


he has fixed his sign in the sky

by patrokla



Series: and who are you to stay the hand of him who made you? [1]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrokla/pseuds/patrokla
Summary: “If your opponent injures you, they will assume that they have made you weak,” Kreese says. “It is your job to eliminate that weakness, to elevate yourself above pain. Are you prepared to do that?”or, in 1981, Johnny loses the All Valley Under-18 tournament for the first time.
Relationships: John Kreese & Johnny Lawrence
Series: and who are you to stay the hand of him who made you? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994995
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	he has fixed his sign in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a series looking at Johnny's relationship with Kreese and karate during high school. 
> 
> While it is canonical that Johnny lost the 1981 All Valley, most of the details here have been made up. This includes Micheal Benson's existence, Toluca Dojo, Tommy competing, and Topanga Karate's involvement in the competition. If anyone has caught the names of the other dojos competing in the tournaments in the movies, let me know! Ditto for the karate details here - I've done some research, but I can't vouch for the accuracy of any of it. The "pain is weakness leaving the body" shit is generally attributed to the Marines, but it pops up in a lot of athletic settings as well.
> 
> Title and epigraph from the Mountain Goats' song (and Bible verse) "Psalms 40:2": he has fixed his sign in the sky/he has raised me from the pit and he will set me high.
> 
> Blanket warnings for the whole series for emotional abuse, manipulation, and Kreese generally being the worst.

In 1981, Johnny loses the All Valley Under-18 tournament for the first time. 

He’s fourteen years old, two years into training at Cobra Kai and about four months into a growth spurt that feels like the answer to all of his problems. He’s grown out of every piece of clothing he owns, even his shoes, and shot up three inches. Girls have started looking at him, and Sid has to look _up_ at him, because he’s finally, _finally_ taller than Sid. Sid’s been royally pissed about it, too, but there’s nothing he can do about it, no amount of money or anger that can force Johnny back down, and that’s the second-best thing to happen to Johnny all year.

The first-best thing is when Kreese takes him aside after class on a Tuesday in September, looks at him for a long, long moment, then nods and says, “You’re going to compete this year.”

Kreese only takes on a couple dozen students every year, and he allows far fewer to actually compete. Johnny had watched those special few with envy last year, had memorized the exercises Kreese showed them while Johnny cleaned the mats, and he’d wondered why he hadn’t been chosen. He knows now, understands the advantages that more height and muscle have given him. He would’ve been crushed by the competition in 1980. Now, he’s ready.

—

“Representing your dojo is a responsibility and an honor,” Kreese tells them. 

It’s 7 am on a Saturday, and Johnny’s face is still damp from the cold water he’d thrown on it before rushing over to Cobra Kai, blinking sleep out of his eyes. It’s just him, Tommy, and Micheal standing in front of Kreese, spines straight, resisting the urge to break position by yawning. Well, Johnny’s resisting the urge, and he’s seen Tommy’s jaw work a few times like he is, too. Micheal’s the champ from ’79, the oldest and most disciplined of them all, and he hasn’t moved a muscle since Kreese called them to attention. 

“The three of you are here because you have what it takes to win. I have trained you, and I have seen you fight, and I trust you to do whatever it takes to beat your opponents.” He pauses, and looks at Micheal. “Mr. Benson, you know what it’s like to win this championship - and you know what it’s like to lose it.”

Micheal flushes, and Johnny suppresses a wince. They’d all seen Micheal lose to Pat Williamson from Topanga Karate last year, coming in second after spraining his wrist in the semi-finals and then failing to get even a single point in the finals while Williamson went after his weak side. He hadn’t shown up for training for two weeks after the tournament, and when he finally did, Kreese put in him in the back row and had him stick to warm-ups for a full month after that. 

“Mr. Benson,” Kreese says, his voice heavy with expectation, “do you know why you lost last year?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Why don’t you illuminate us, Mr. Benson,” Kreese says, and Micheal’s eyes cut towards Johnny before he answers. He has dark eyes, and a quiet voice outside of the dojo. Johnny’s seen him at school practicing katas during lunch, out on the soccer field. 

“I lost because I wasn’t strong enough, Sensei,” he says. “I gave into pain, and I forgot my training.”

“Yes, Mr. Benson, you did.” Kreese turns his gaze back to the room, and to Johnny. “Mr. Lawrence, what is pain?”

“Pain is weakness leaving the body, Sensei.” Johnny knows that mantra intimately. Kreese had taught it to him his very first day, after Bobby sent him flying into the wall with a roundhouse kick. 

“If your opponent injures you, they will assume that they have made you weak,” Kreese says. “It is your job to eliminate that weakness, to elevate yourself above pain. Are you prepared to do that?”

The chorus of “Yes, Sensei!” rings through the dojo, and Kreese looks almost pleased. Then he crosses his arms, and says, “Let’s begin your training.”

—

Training for a tournament is exhausting. Johnny does katas at home before school, then trains at the dojo every afternoon. The days get shorter, and by October he’s biking home in the dark, exhausted and sore. The three of them run through katas with Kreese, but the really brutal part is when Kreese has them spar against each other and rotates out whoever gets a point. It's an exercise that means more points you lose, the more disadvantaged you are against the other guys, who’ve had at least a few seconds of rest, and Johnny finds that it’s easy to fall into a vicious cycle of failure, point after point being called while Kreese watches on in implacable judgment. 

Bobby comes over one Sunday in October to find Tommy and Johnny sparring in Johnny’s backyard. Technically, they have the afternoon off, and Johnny’s got an English essay due Monday morning that he should be working on. But he’d spent five straight minutes losing points against Tommy and Micheal this morning, so he’d talked Tommy into coming over and practicing until he figured out why he was fucking up. (He'd had to rush him through the house fast enough that Tommy hadn’t heard Sid say more than “ - fucking pathetic -“ from the family room as they went down the hall to the back door.)

“Remember when we used to have fun?” Bobby asks from where he’s sprawled out on the grass. The question annoys Johnny, for some reason. 

“Fun is for people who don’t want to be winners,” Tommy says between strikes. Johnny can tell that he’s only half-joking. 

“Hey,” Bobby says, “I worked my ass off all year, don’t act like I didn’t want to compete.”

Tommy pauses at that, hands falling to his side. 

“Sorry, Bobby,” he apologizes. “I wasn’t trying to say you didn’t.”

He starts to take a step back, falling out of stance, and Johnny moves forward and sweeps his leg. 

“If you wanted to compete, you would’ve worked harder,” he tells Bobby over Tommy’s indignant yelp. “Sensei chose those of us who were actually capable of demonstrating their skill.”

“Oh, screw you,” Bobby snaps, looking genuinely hurt. Johnny pushes down the urge to apologize. Hadn’t Kreese told them that he’d chosen them because they were ready? Johnny’s just being honest. He shouldn’t feel guilty about it.

“Yeah, come on, Johnny,” Tommy says as he gets up, watching Johnny warily. “Bobby could’ve been up there with us, easy. Lots of guys could’ve been.”

“If they could hack it then they’d be practicing with us at 7 am every damn weekend,” Johnny says. “Kreese chose us because we’re capable of winning; they aren’t.”

“Kreese chose Micheal because he’s capable of winning,” Tommy says. “We’re just rounding him out.”

“I - no.” He’s caught off guard, blindsided. That can’t be right. “No, it could be any of us.”

“No, it couldn’t,” Tommy says flatly. “It might be you, but it’s probably gonna be Micheal. Kreese has been doing extra sessions with him all year, and he beats us more often than not. Pat Williamson aged out of the tournament this summer, and there’s no one else who even comes close.”

He sighs and sits down on the lawn, legs crossed. “Face it, Johnny, we’re putting ourselves through this for nothing.”

“No,” Johnny snaps. “That’s bullshit. That’s - just get out.”

Bobby lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious, man?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. If you’re gonna call our sensei a liar, then get the hell out.”

“Fine, we will,” Bobby says, scrambling up. “Have fun being a -“

“Hold on,” Tommy interjects. “Johnny, I’m not calling Sensei a liar. I’m just saying…he’s got expectations for all of us, right? He expects us to do well, but he expects Micheal to win.” 

Johnny shakes his head, then shakes it agin - finds he doesn’t know how to say, without feeling like an idiot and a brag, that he thinks Kreese wants _him_ to win. He’s sure of it. After all, hadn’t that been what he'd told Johnny last month after class? Didn’t he believe in Johnny?

“Any of us could win,” he mutters, slightly deflated, and Bobby sighs.

“Come on, Tommy, let’s leave Kid Karate to his katas,” he says, getting up off the lawn.

“It wouldn’t hurt to take a couple hours off. You could come with us, Johnny,” Tommy offers as he stands up.

“No, I - I need to practice,” Johnny says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Johnny turns around before he can see them go out the gate, falling into _sanchin_ stance and extending his arms out to begin the kata. He tries to think of nothing at all as he moves, then, when he fails at that, just tries to think of anything except what Tommy had said.

He focuses on that moment when Kreese had looked at him and found him worthy, and pictures how it will feel to win the tournament and have that approving gaze turned on him again. Today had been a bad day, but that was a fluke - he knows he has what it takes to win. Tommy might not, but that’s his own problem. Johnny can do this.

—

He loses in the quarterfinals. Not even enough for a fucking third place trophy, no, months of training, and he loses to some kid from Topanga who doesn’t even land a single point against Micheal in the semi-finals. 

He feels both better and worse about the fact that Micheal loses in the finals to a dojo-less senior who’d just moved to Encino Hills and apparently entered the tournament for _fun_. Between him, Tommy, and Micheal, they have exactly one second-place trophy to bring back to Cobra Kai. It’s hardly the showing they’d hoped for, hardly what Kreese had trained them for, and Johnny burns with humiliation over it.

On the other hand, at least he hadn’t failed alone.

Johnny spends a few extra minutes in the showers trying to ease the pain in his right shoulder where the kid from Topanga had landed a particularly hard front kick, and half-hoping that his mom will leave with Sid before he gets out, so he can avoid a car ride home with his stepfather ranting about how his lessons with Kreese were a waste of time and money because Johnny was constitutionally incapable of succeeding at anything, because he was a loser, etc etc. Johnny’s heard it a thousand times already. He’d rather walk home.

When he gets out to the parking lot, he’s thrilled to see that Sid’s Aston Marton is already gone, along with most of the other cars in the lot. He’d heard the boys from Toluca Dojo talking about how they were all going to get pizza afterwards, and he feels exhausted at the prospect of the long walk home alone, in the dark, with no trophy and no -

“I did my best!”

The voice, pained and familiar, jerks Johnny out of his thoughts. It was Micheal, but Micheal as Johnny hadn’t heard him in at least a year, not since the loss at last year’s tournament. He searches the parking lot until he sees him standing by Kreese’s car at the very end of the lot. Standing by _Kreese_ , Johnny realizes as he walks slowly towards them across the asphalt. 

Kreese is leaning in towards Micheal, saying something too quietly for Johnny to make out. Whatever it is makes Micheal’s expression turn furious in the orange glow of the street light.

“Oh, _now_ you don’t care,” he snarls as Johnny gets close, stopping outside the light.

Kreese doesn't reply, and Micheal finally shakes his head and storms away. Johnny sees the trophy clutched in one hand, shining as he goes.

Kreese watches him leave, arms crossed, jaw clenched, and Johnny wonders for a moment if he’d even heard Johnny approaching, if Johnny should’ve come this close at all. Then he turns to look at him, face softening slightly, and says, “Well, Mr. Lawrence, how was your first tournament?”

“Could’ve been better, Sensei,” Johnny says quietly, and Kreese snorts derisively.

“It could have.”

“I’m sorry, Sensei,” Johnny says, trying to keep his shoulders from tensing, and thinking of what Tommy had said back in October. _He expects us to do well…he expects Micheal to win_. “I really thought I could win.”

Kreese hums, looking at Johnny the way he had when he’d decided Johnny could compete. Evaluating. 

“You could have,” he says, after a long pause. Johnny’s skin prickles at the words, at the way Kreese’s eyes seem to get a little colder. “But you failed to. How do you feel about that?”

Johnny swallows through the sudden lump in his throat. “I - I’m ashamed, Sensei. I thought I tried my hardest, but that front kick -“

“That’s your problem,” Kreese says coldly. “You _thought_ you could win, you _thought_ you tried your hardest. Did I tell you that you were capable of winning?”

“Yes?” Had he? Johnny had thought that’s what he meant when he chose Johnny, but did that qualify? 

Kreese’s jaw tightens, and Johnny hastily amends his answer. “Yes, Sensei.”

“If I told you that you could win, then you don’t need to think about it,” Kreese says the words like Johnny should already know them. Maybe he should. “You just need to do it. Otherwise you’ll end up like Mr. Benson, a loser chasing after some momentary victory he’ll never be good enough to win again.”

“But why did you let him compete?” Johnny blurts out, not meaning to but not able to help himself, either. “If he wasn’t good enough to win, then why - why have him train at all?”

To his relief, Kreese looks amused by the question. 

“I did Mr. Benson a courtesy,” he says dismissively, “as a former champion, and as a student of mine who once showed promise. He wasn’t up to the challenge, as I predicted. But,” he adds coolly, “neither were you, Mr. Lawrence.”

“I can do better, Sensei, I promise.” He can do better, he knows it. Sid’s been calling him a loser for years, and he knows that he’s not that. He’s a winner, he just needs to fucking _win_.

“I know you can,” Kreese says, his face stern but his voice almost gentle. The relief that runs through Johnny from that washes most of the sting out of what he says next. “You just need discipline, Mr. Lawrence. If I tell you to fight through pain, you do that. If I tell you to win, you win. Do you understand?”

Johnny nods, says, “Yes, Sensei,” and Kreese nods approvingly.

“Good. I’ll see you at 7 am tomorrow for training.”

Tomorrow is a Saturday. His shoulder aches. When he gets home, Sid is going to yell and yell, and Johnny won’t have a thing to say (or a trophy) for his own defense.

“Yes, Sensei,” he says.

Kreese gives another approving nod.

“Come on, Mr. Lawrence. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thank you, Sensei,” Johnny murmurs. 

Kreese doesn’t say anything on the ride home, just turns the radio on and drives with one hand on the steering wheel. But he doesn’t need to, not when Johnny’s busy picturing all of the ways he'll get stronger and faster over the next year. He can practically feel the cool weight of the first place trophy in his hands, see the pride in Kreese’s eyes as he lifts it over his head. 

He just has to win.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://leguin.tumblr.com)


End file.
